


In Passing Goodbye

by overthemoon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Confession, Ending Fix, Gen, His Last Vow, M/M, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overthemoon/pseuds/overthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've already said everything they needed to say.  All the evidence is there.  Sherlock's not sure he can come to the correct conclusion though.  John Watson has a habit of throwing off Sherlock's conclusions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Passing Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I NEEDED A FIX IT FIC  
> also this prompt over [here](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/73455215671/i-need-every-single-fanfic-of-sherlock-actually) which I didn't really fill but could probably squeeze in.

Sherlock Holmes looks at John Watson and thinks, _So this is goodbye. My debt to you is paid._ He thinks he should acknowledge that he's leaving, make it final somehow, only he's already left John in the most final way he could.

_"This phone call, it's my note. That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note?"_

“You know, actually, I can’t think of a single thing to say,” John says.

Sherlock could say, _I did it to protect you._ He hasn’t corrected the records where the ordinary world assumes he’s incapable of caring, but John’s horrified expression when Magnussen played the bonfire footage probably means it’s been corrected, at least for John. Probably. Maybe. John looks away, nearly turns his whole body around.

Sherlock doesn't flatter himself that he succeeded in protecting John the first time he left, because he couldn't find John Watson when he came back. The mustache was merely window dressing for John’s grief; the real evidence lies in the carved shadows under John’s eyes, the tight smile constantly plastered on John’s face, and the constant tension in John’s shoulders. Sherlock doesn't regret why, he never could, but he does regret the continued cost. He didn’t notice then, he didn’t see. Stupid, stupid.

“No, neither can I,” Sherlock says.

Mary is there to keep John in trouble now. There’s no need for Sherlock to be there for the baby that's born out of the forcibly glued bond between their shattered and malformed hearts. He knows. The baby names will only ever be a joke.

Their eyes meet. Sherlock doesn’t need to see to observe: John’s need is gone. The only debt left is the drowning need that had swallowed Sherlock when he'd shaken John's hand and said, "Please, call me Sherlock." Sherlock’s been trying to fight it off ever since. 

He stands apart, offers his hand. 

He can't say it still. He should. Sherlock thinks John knows, thinks that John has always known, but the words aren't enough. They’re not evidence. Anyone could lie with those three little words and Sherlock is very certain that John is tired of his lies. It won't stop him, but he knows. John’s smile is lovely when angry, but Sherlock would rather jump off Barts again then see that gleeful danger turned against him. 

He thinks about the crackling heat of the bonfire, the desperation and certainty that had seeped through his limbs that he was going to lose John, and the aching feet he’d acquired (and never complained about) when slowly teaching John to waltz for Mary’s wedding. Evidence. John appreciates proof, needs to know that Sherlock’s not lying to him again. Maybe everything is done enough, as Sherlock is leaving now.

"Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock says. John frowns, pulls it out, passes it over.

Sherlock types in "I love you - SH" sends it to John's number, and gives it back to John.

John checks the text, then turns pale. "Jesus, if you're having me on-"

Sherlock shakes his head. He can't open his mouth, explain everything that makes John wonderful. He tried at the wedding, he tried, but he's not good at compliments the way John lets _wonderful, amazing, brilliant,_ drop out of his mouth as shining lights to ease Sherlock's way. Compliments are not enough to persuade people of the facts: John is a good man, a dangerous man, and Sherlock’s man. He can't explain the bone-heating warmth of John's endless cups of tea or the way John’s banging and shouting draw him back out of the boredom cesspit he keeps locked away in his mind palace. 

"Sherlock is a girls name," he says, instead of goodbye. John’s girlfriends always dumped John because Sherlock kept demanding John’s time and now Sherlock is leaving. Sherlock won’t be there to be John’s - something- and keep John away from what he thinks wants, anymore. Now John’s got what he was looking for - a wife with a house and a baby, and every bit of danger he wishes he never desired.  
Sherlock doesn't look back when he walks to the plane and gets on. He doesn't look at the ground because inside his mind palace an earthquake is shaking the foundations of the walls and if smashed memories mean water comes out of his eyes, so be it.  
Four minutes pass: he locks his library of John’s facial expressions in the basement, and brings in the wrecking ball to knock down the connecting hallway of dreams he’s kept from when he was away. He collapses the scent of John’s aftershave in the morning into a tiny bottle and hides it inside his pirate’s treasure chest.

Mycroft calls and meddles again: “England needs you.” Not John Watson. Sherlock complains into the phone and doesn't breathe in until he feels the jolting of the landing gear. He closes his eyes and the earthquake inside his head stops. He’s not going to die, possibly. He’s going to spend more time with John Watson, possibly. That’s good.

John is still standing there when he gets off the plane. Sherlock's mobile beeps.

You've got a lot of explaining to do - JW

Mary is still standing next to John with a hand around John’s waist, still dangerous and pregnant and waiting. She smiles at Sherlock.

Sherlock stares at his mobile out and texts back.

I know. - SH  
I've always known. - SH

"Queen and country, Mycroft says," he explains. "Guess I have more utility at home after all."

John smiles and slips effortlessly into parade rest. Sherlock glances at Mary. Damn Mycroft and his timing. There aren't enough facts on Sherlock's hard drive to explain the inevitable truth of John Watson.

He yearns for him. He burns for him.

"Glad to have you back," John says.

Sherlock’s phone beeps.

Bastard - JW

Sherlock pushes his happiness into a restrained smirk and texts back.

Yours - SH

It should be enough, he thinks.

It should be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://overthemoonwriting.tumblr.com).  
> Comments make me super duper happy (kudos too).  
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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